


it hurts (as much as we're in love)

by cyclothimic



Series: the start and end of my feverish feelings [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Army, Alternate Universe - Military, Army, F/M, Felicity Smoak is a patient puppy, Gen, Military, Oliver Queen is a stubborn teddy bear, Romance, Slow Burn, what are they waiting for really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyclothimic/pseuds/cyclothimic
Summary: His face was carrying a full-out grin now. "I miss you."She hummed. "I miss you too."Friends don't do this. Friends don't say they miss each other so nonchalantly and yet with so much weight. But then again, they were more than just friends and they knew it. It just depended on whether they wanted to take action and leap.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't churned out a fic in a long time, because coursework has been killing me. but now that i have some extra time, i want to write this fic that has been in my thoughts for a long. it's sort of a sequel to ah, there we go except this is olicity.
> 
> now, read, ponder and enjoy!

_Let's love_

_Not being able to see you_

_Is scarier than death to me_

_-By My Side, SG Wannabe_

* * *

 

He should probably be grateful that there was Internet connection here on the base – as slow as it might be. And Felicity had complained that the Internet speed back home was mediocre until she had to hack in and build in a speed enhancing program to ease the armed forces' communications and projects, which had eventually led to her arrest and her recruitment into the NSA.

Oliver stared at his computer screen or more specifically, the blank email draft with its blinking indicator urging him to write something or nothing at all. At the top, her email address was typed neatly into the 'To' box, an automatic fill-out of his email server because she was the only person he had the most frequent email exchanges with.

He used to wish for assignments, to be sent off on a noisy and warm military aircraft to a desolated location for impossible underground tasks that absolutely nobody out of jurisdiction were allowed to know about; to risk his life in the field all the while knowing that even if he were to lose it, his contribution wouldn't be recognized given that the job was on a non-disclosed basis; to know that at least he was doing _something_ despite the fact that he knew it wouldn't compensate much for the years he had lost due to his recklessness and uncaring attitude.

Except back then, he was just a sergeant with a rebellious sister who wouldn't listen to him and a mother whose lies had amounted to so many that he didn't even know if he could believe a word she said anymore. Back then, he was a sergeant who had risen so fast through the ranks that people had suspected he was still sleeping with Laurel Lance to make it there. Back then, he didn't have a Felicity Smoak in his life.

Right now, as he sat in his office sitting in front of his laptop, he wished he was back in his country, in Maryland, in posh and comfortable little office that Felicity had set up for herself. He wanted to touch her hand and cup her cheek and tell her he was sorry and ask her could they start over. Because, _god_ , he had regretted the way they had left things before he boarded the aircraft and fled here to Malaysia. Or, well, the way he had left things before he boarded the aircraft and fled here to Malaysia.

He might as well just agree to Felicity's very fond description for him: _a muscly broody misunderstood German Shepherd_.

(Okay, but honestly, Oliver had been agreeing to everything Felicity said since the moment they declared their friendship.)

And now, here he sat, contemplating the words he could type out to genuinely express his apology and extend a hand to offer a possible reconciliation upon his return. But he couldn't, because everything he had to say would sound too generic and cold over an email. He couldn't do that – not to them.

She meant too much to him.

"Hey."

He looked up, partly annoyed for the interruption of complicated thought process, and saw Laurel standing at the entrance to his office, holding the flap that was meant to be the door up with one hand while holding a bottle of scotch with the other. Well, at least it wasn't one of his troops.

"Hey," he replied, removing his fingers from the keyboard and leaning back in his chair. "Where'd you get that?" He nodded at the liquor.

"Supermarket." She took his reply as an invitation and came in, brandishing two glasses and sat down in front of him. "I need a drink. And I couldn't think of anyone else to have a drink with without compromising my authority during duty hours." She took a good look at him and smiled without humor. "And you look like you can use one too."

He watched as she uncorked the bottle and poured scotch into each glass. "What's the occasion?"

"We need an occasion for alcohol?"

Because he knew her long enough, he knew that was a deflection tactic, so he just tilted his head and eyed her, accepting the glass.

She gave him a tired look before drinking and putting the glass back on his table. She leaned back and sighed, taking off her patrol cap. "Do you ever regret joining Special Forces?" she asked.

He cocked his brows. "Laurel," he pronounced carefully.

"The people you leave behind at home because you feel patriotic; the good life you could have had back home; the pens you traded for weapons to kill," she listed offhandedly, closing her eyes.

Then it dawned on him. "This is about Tommy."

She opened her eyes, still not looking at him. "Partly," she admitted begrudgingly.

Only then did he drink the scotch, relishing in the burn in the back of his throat and the flow of liquid within his lungs. It was so much better than the burn in the back of his mind and the cork stuck between his pride and his need. "No one will blame you if you wanna leave."

She hummed. "My dad has been saying the same thing."

"Your dad loves his children. And, you know, just because it's a family occupation doesn't mean you have to do it, he said as much the night before you signed up," he said. "Sara didn't."

"The thing is I like it," she replied, looking at him. "Or _liked_ it," she added with dejection. "This uniform, the position, the discipline, they just give me a sense of…" she drifted off, searching for the right word.

"I get it." He nodded. He had the same feeling too when he was first dispatched. "Eventually, it tires out." He also understood where she was coming from. He had been thinking about making this his last tour before he retired and got a proper life. Of course, those thoughts hadn't even come close to the edge of his mind until he met a certain someone and saw a possible future where he didn't end up drunk in a ditch with no money to spare.

She stared at him for a long while before asking, "Who is she?"

Who was she? She was Felicity Smoak, IT extraordinaire, the best agent NSA have had, the only person to manage to breach governmental private files and not feel sorry for it, and the woman he was so desperately in love with. "Felicity," he said, simple and yet so heavy.

She nodded. "So the rumors are true."

He chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Word gets around."

She smiled; taking her glass and downing it in one go before gesturing for him to do the same as she stood up. When he did, she took his glass too. "I've met her. She's nice." And then she smiled encouragingly at him. "You'd be stupid to let her go."

* * *

 

"Hello?"

Oliver's eyes closed, an inevitable sigh of relief escaping his lips. He had missed her. "Hey." He didn't clarify who he was, trusting her to know.

There was a pause before she said, "Hey." She sounded weak, as if all the energy had been sucked out of her. He hoped it wasn't because of him. "You haven't emailed."

He grimaced slightly. "Yeah, sorry about that." He had made it a habit to email – or at least call if he could – whenever he reached a new destination due to his job, tell her he was safe and that he would call her again when he finished his job. It was a promise, for him to go back to her and for her to wait.

"Okay." It was a long moment before she added, "Is that the only thing you're sorry about?"

He had to laugh – how could he not? – because this was one of the reasons that made him fell for her. She was the only person not afraid of his authority as a detachment commander and just told him as it was. "I'm sorry, Felicity." For leaving things the way he had; for being a coward; for making her wait; for being selfish and wanting her to wait even though he knew he shouldn't.

"See, that wasn't so hard."

And he knew, right then, that all was right in the world. "It usually is."

"Please," she scoffed. "You wouldn't be you if it isn't."

His face was carrying a full-out grin now. "I miss you."

She hummed. "I miss you too."

Friends don't do this. Friends don't say they miss each other so nonchalantly and yet with so much weight. But then again, they were more than just friends and they knew it. It just depended on whether they wanted to take action and leap.

And he wanted to. And he should have. If he wasn't such a coward – for her and for himself – maybe they would be saying more than they missed each other.

"Oliver?"

"Yes?"

"I just want you to know that…I am still waiting," she said.

He frowned, the bottom of his stomach twisting sickly at the disgusting thought of her waiting for him when he just wasn't worthy. "Felicity," he whispered.

"Oliver," she snapped, shutting him up, and when she said, "I said I will wait. And I will," he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Okay."

"Okay."

He cleared his throat. "So, I heard you met Laurel Lance."

"Oh yeah. She's awesome."

As he spent almost two hours talking to her about the most miscellaneous things ever, the phone bill inevitably climbing with each minute, he found that he hadn't been so relaxed and so content since he landed here.

**Author's Note:**

> so? what do you think? there'll be more, i promise. it's either olicity or snowbarry - depends on my mood.
> 
> oh, and can i just say the season 5 premiere couldn't be more disappointing? first of all, laurel lance deserves a better statue because that statue was shit like wtf how dare they. second of all, i do not acknowledge new boyfriend, idk who that was, what do you mean there's someone massaging her shoulder? no no, no one's massaging her shoulders. i don't know a new boyfriend.
> 
> p.s. LAUREL LANCE IS PROBABLY ALIVE AND WELL HAHAHA SUCK IT BUTTHURT OLICITERS!


End file.
